


A Special Child

by CantansAvis



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Pre-Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantansAvis/pseuds/CantansAvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she lays on her deathbed, Hunith reflects on her life and that of a great sorcerer, her son, Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Special Child

Hunith's eyes fluttered open to the room she had been imprisoned in for several weeks. The seats of the wooden stools had been worn down from use. Scorch marks, quills, ink splatters, and parchment littered some tables. Others were covered in jars and vials of all shapes and sizes; their contents varying from simple rosemary to a gunky, teal substance that only Gaius could know. Light streamed in from the window and Hunith could hear Camelot awakening. Horses' hooves clopped against the pavement and dirt. Voices in the market were already alerting the public about new merchandise and bargains.

A light snore tickled Hunith's left ear. She turned with a smile as she saw her son, Merlin, slumbering at her side. Hunith enjoyed his peaceful countenance. But worry and despair gnawed at the mother's mind as she saw the dark circles under Merlin's eyes. His clothes were extremely wrinkled and stained, as if he had completely forgotten about them. Even his ridiculous scarf was missing. Merlin's mop of raven hair was ruffled and messy, as if he had been clawing at it with a sort of desperation and despair. Hunith winced in pain as she let out a deep sigh that burned her lungs. She had told Merlin since the beginning of this accursed illness that he could do nothing about it. But the loving, stubborn boy just wouldn't give up.

The wooden door creaked open. "How are you doing Hunith?" the low, gruff voice of an old man asked. Hunith attempted to sit up and voice her well-being but instead had to restrain a moan of pain. "Not well, I see," Gaius mumbled with concern. His stormy eyes took a worried glance at the still-sleeping boy he considered as his son. "Neither is Merlin."

Hunith gave a small, but passionate, nod.

"He has been scouring both the real world and the magical realm for a cure. But he hasn't found anything yet…" Gaius trailed off, deep in thought.

Hunith wished she could scream. Scream that Merlin was being a dunderhead; a sweet and loyal one, but a dunderhead nevertheless. He would never find a cure. No one could find it, for one cannot cure the curse of Death. Death takes all in the end; he just takes some earlier than others.

"You have one special child, Hunith. In power, heart, and soul. A very special child, indeed…" Gaius once again trailed off, allowing Hunith to think, to remember. One thought stuck in her mind: she had always known Merlin was a special child.

* * *

Hunith remembered Balinor fondly. His ever-wary, blue-grey eyes. His wavy, messy dark hair. The comfort and support he provided, even though he was the one in danger.

Hunith felt a pang of sorrow in her chest as she remembered the day he was driven out of the village. Driven out by hate, the hate of magic. A hate that resided in one who had the power to try to rid of it. A hate that resided in the ruthless Uther Pendragon.

Hunith closed her eyes as she could still feel the warmth of the fire as she had sat in her rickety chair, despairing over the loss of her lover, while clutching her slightly bulging stomach.

Who could know that a lonely peasant-woman could hold such great power? Not Hunith. Sure, she had known Merlin was special. His ability to empathize and cooperate with others. His sharp mind and wit (though this could never be truly honed, his emotions got in the way too much… maybe one day he would be able to harness that internal wisdom). Like every mother thinks, her little boy is special and different from all the rest. But Hunith never imagined her boy would be _that_ kind of different.

She recalled the mixture of feelings when she first discovered her little boy's powers.

_"Hey big ears!" a gangly tween called out as Merlin was walking to his cottage near the center of the village._

_Merlin kept walking to the older boy. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," he mumbled to himself._

_"Oy! Listen when I talk to you dummy! Aren't those ears big enough to hear me?" The acne speckled boy voice cracked as he shrieked his last jeer._

_Merlin held his sides laughing, and whined internally as he saw the wooden sticks, tinder for the hearth, sprawled across the ground._

_Infuriated, the older boy chucked the apple he had stolen from Merlin's friend, Will. With a smug smirk, he watched it fly toward Merlin._

_However, the smirk would not last._

_Hunith was walking out of the cottage to meet her little boy when she saw the apple bulleting straight for Merlin's face. She cried out and covered her eyes, afraid of the outcome. One loud thump and scream of pain later, Hunith opened her eyes to see her son gathering the fallen firewood with a small smile._

_There was no sign of injury. Had the boy missed? Surely not, there had been a hurting cry. She swiveled her eyes around, looking for the poor bystander that had been hit. But there was no one near or around Merlin. Hunith's eyes passed over the bully, only to quickly return. They boy was lying on the beaten, dirt path, crying quietly and cursing loudly as he clung onto his injured head._

_"Did anyone see what he did? He did magic!" the boy screamed. "His eyes went golden like the devil's fire!"_

_A distraught woman, in clothes much too big for her tiny stature carefully approached the powerful warlock. "Didja hurt ma boy Tommy?" she inquired in a rough, scolding voice._

_Red crept up Merlin's bare neck and continued to his ears as he looked down at his boots and gave a small nod._

_"Didja use magic?" the woman asked in a softer tone, sensing the young boy's shame._

_Merlin looked up at her with the sweetest, puppy-dog face. He then shook his head vigorously. "He threw it at me after calling me names and making me drop my sticks but he missed so I picked it up and threw it back," the shy boy quickly replied._

_Satisfied that Merlin was innocent, the woman picked up her son by the ears. "When we get home, you're not leaving for anything but work. When you leave I'll make sure you don't talk to any of your bad-mouthed, liar friends. Just wait until your father hears about this…" The woman's scolding voice, punctuated by Tommy's accusations of Merlin's use of magic, faded as they walked away._

_However, Hunith was not satisfied by Merlin's reply. She saw that impish smile. She knew Merlin. Merlin absolutely did not have the coordination or strength to hit Tommy._

_Her son was a warlock._

_Fury surged through Hunith. How could Merlin hide this from her? Then sympathy arose. Maybe he was just scared; there had been many tales of the Great Purge that elderly men told the village children. Then worry seized her. Somehow, Hunith knew that her son was no ordinary sorcerer. He just had this aura of power, cleverly hidden through his timidity and clumsiness. Praise be to whatever divine power was watching him._

After that fateful event, Hunith taught him to carefully hide his powers. She – with a tinge of sorrow as she remembered the boy's father – told him the cruel tales of the elderly men were true. Merlin successfully kept his powers a secret from those he did not feel could handle the burden of this secret.

Years passed. Merlin grew taller and lankier. He soon possessed the unfortunate fondness of wearing neckerchiefs. And as Merlin grew, so did his magical power. Hunith always knew that her son was destined for something greater than Ealdor village life. With the addition of magical powers, her mind was set. She sent him to Camelot, where he would learn a practical trade and hopefully stay safe.

How wrong she was.

Merlin would not tell his fair-hearted (so he thought) mother of the danger he had experienced since day one in Camelot. He did not write to her of the various witches and warlocks set on destroying Uther and Arthur Pendragon. He never did mention the various sharp-toothed, bloodthirsty monsters. He of course never told her of the life-threatening situations he had caused. Hunith wouldn't know much of her son's exciting life.

Until the day a strange couple knocked on her door.

* * *

Soft, tentative thuds reached Hunith's ears as she was sewing in her rickety chair. Putting aside the shirt she was mending for one of the village children, she opened the door to see her doom.

They were a knobbly sort of pair. They were both somewhat tall and looked like they couldn't fit into their own bodies. The man had little wisps of gray hair. The woman wore her stringy hair down, making her look very… witchy. Both had a serene, mysterious grin. Between their wrinkled hands was a honey-colored basket.

Hunith, with a tight knot in her core, said calmly, "How may I help you?"

"We come from Camelot, bringing new of your son, Emy—Merlin," the woman creaked.

"Is he hurt? Is he okay? What happened?" Motherly instinct took over Hunith as soon as she heard her son's name. Any questions about these strangers fled from her mind.

"Oh, he is fine. But he is not telling you everything." the man croaked mysteriously.

"What? Merlin's my son. He wouldn't…" Hunith trailed off in a Gaius-manner as she thought about Merlin. Though he would never admit it, Merlin would think she couldn't handle any of his adventures. Plus, perhaps he was a bit bitter; she hid stuff from him, so he would hide stuff from her. "Never mind, go on."

"Just take this book," the woman said wistfully while pulling out a thin, leather booklet from the basket, "It will show you everything."

After Hunith had the book in her grasp, the couple disappeared. No, they did not simply walk away and were never heard of again. Well, they were never heard of again, but they had simply vanished, like wind blowing away ashes.

Hunith, after taking a quick look around and making sure no one had seen her or the couple, quickly shut the door and sat in her old chair. The book was thin, which made her relieved; maybe her son didn't have so many dangerous adventures. Maybe he was just being a good apprentice to Gaius and servant to Prince Arthur. She smiled as she eliminated that last thought. Merlin wasn't one to be obedient; he was loyal, but had a "slight" distaste for instructions. With a deep breath, she opened the book.

The book had no words, but consisted of moving pictures. It was magical. Hunith went from shocked to dismayed to worried mixed with anger, pride, and disappointment. She was worried about Merlin, angry he told her nothing, proud of his accomplishments, and disappointed in his foolishness. When the book was done, Hunith set it aside and packed up some supplies. She was going to Camelot.

* * *

Hunith trudged through the forest. She refused to stop until she saw the bleached fortress of Camelot. As yet another tree branch whipped her in the face, she glared at the forest. "Whose side are you on?" she mumbled as she continued to lumber through the apparently-on-Merlin's-side wood.

Hunith, in her reminiscence, chuckled bitterly to herself. The forest was on no one's side. Except maybe Death's.

As night drew nearer on that accursed day, Hunith had almost reached the end of the stupid forest. There were only a few things in her way: some roots that made her stumble and a short, hooded figure standing in the center of the path (it wasn't much of a path, but it was clearer than the rest of the forest floor).The exit out of the forest was narrow, and Hunith did not wish to stray from the path, especially at nightfall.

"Excuse me, dear." Hunith tried continuing to move forward, but the figure wouldn't move. Not wanting to be rude, Hunith repeated herself, louder, "Excuse me."

However, instead of stepping aside and letting Hunith pass, an unnatural, booming voice croaked, "Hunith of Ealdor, it is time to leave this realm." The figure lowered its navy blue hood. Hunith tried to decipher its face, but it was impossible. It kept shifting. One moment it was a small boy's face very similar to Merlin's. Then it would quickly change into the face of a haggish woman. Then an old man. A sweat-sheened knight. A pale-faced princess. A homely peasant. A bearded merchant... Hunith leaned on a nearby tree as she tried to take it all in.

The figure chuckled Its voice was now at a normal volume, but still had a bittersweet, mysterious undertone. "What you see are the face of those I have taken."

Hunith froze. "Who...who are you?" She knew, but wished for she was wrong.

"I'm a curse to some. A gift to others. I come to one whether I am wanted or not. I feed the starving, warm the freezing, soothe the ill, and lower the hanged. I am Death."

Hunith's eyes grew wider and her heart felt like ice. It started jumping up and down as Hunith screamed, "No! Nononononono..."

Death shook its head in pity. "We must be on our way, Hunith." His hand, which was constantly changing in texture and shade, reached out to her.

"Give a dying woman one last request!" Hunith tried to back away, but forgetting that she had been leaning on the tree, instead fell to her knees, sobbing, her dark hair shielding her face. _Merlin...what about Merlin? I'm not going to see him again...Merlin..._

Death simply stated, "I may give you one last request." Hunith, still crying, stopped her wailing. "And I'll give you an explanation. Come." Death motioned her to follow him and walked into the dark wood off the path and disappeared, melting into the darkness. Knowing she would die anyway, Hunith followed him, melting into the darkness as well, into the Home of Death.

* * *

Hunith stumbled after Death. The dark was complete and suffocating. After tripping over roots and other forest floor debris, she felt herself passing through a thin veil that chilled her to the bone. Now she was carefully walking across a wooden floor.

It had been difficult following the personification of death. He was as loud as a shadow. His dark figure was impossible to differentiate from the night. He would have to occasionally call out to the dazed woman to signal the direction in which she should walk.

Hunith's eyes now registered a soft glow as she had begun to wonder if Death was just messing with her. Her pace increased.

Death's home was actually... nice. There was a fireplace with a small fire burning. Near the fireplace were two red, plush chairs, the color faded with the toll of time. While one chair looked comfortably worn, the other appeared stiff and covered with a thin layer of grime.

Death leaned down and added more kindle to the fire. Death then attempted to dust off the grimy chair. Unsuccessful, Death looked over at Hunith, who was warily standing on the fringe of darkness.

"Sorry for the mess." Death's shifting face smiled apologetically. "I don't have too many guests. I usually just escort them to...well, you'll find out later." He motioned toward the still-dirty chair. "Please, take a seat."

Hunith slowly walked over, still unsure of the situation. Finally deciding that fear was of no use to her at the moment, she plopped bitterly into her chair. "So, why am I so special?" she spat.

"Don't be so bitter Hunith. And do not doubt how special you are. Like Merlin, you are quite special."

Hunith immediately sat up, alert. Why was Death talking about her Merlin?

Death chuckled. "Do not worry for the boy. It is not his time...yet. He is very far down on my list." Hunith relaxed.

"Now, don't interrupt." Death said sternly. Hunith nodded cautiously. Death nodded back in acknowledgment.

"Please don't think about me as evil." Hunith's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I don't know how I came to be. I just know that ever since the dawn of time, I've been Death. I've been dreaded and, in sad, desperate cases, wanted. I've always had this bag," he stated, patting the small knapsack that Hunith had not noticed until then.

"In it was a map and list, showing me who was to die and where they were. I have amazing capabilities. I only need to think about a place in order to be there. I can penetrate any fortress, cross any ocean, traverse thousands of miles in merely seconds... Anyway, few souls have caused me to invite them to my home. I can count the number of souls, including you, on one hand." Death raised a shifting hand and held up four fingers.

"The first was when I was still 'young'. It was the first child I ever had to take. He had a mop of muddy brown hair that matched his bark brown eyes. When I took him, my heart almost shattered. His mother was sobbing, his father stoically trying not to...and the boy, he sorrowfully told me, 'I don't want to leave yet.'" Death bowed his head in quiet despair.

_Either he's a good actor, or he actually does have a heart. Poor dear..._ Hunith thought.

Death cleared his throat and looked back up, into the fire, which reflected in his flashing eyes. "I invited him to my home that I had established not long ago. I gave him some treats and tried to explain what would come next. The boy did not understand until I had to bade him farewell.

"The next soul was the first victim of a crime. She had refused a scoundrel a kiss and was strangled. She was completely terrified and may have become a malicious spirit had I not reached her soon. I comforted her by this very hearth and she easily passed into the next life.

"The next soul I invited was one you knew." Hunith looked up, surprised, eyes shining with the question, _Who?_

"It was Balinor." Hunith felt her heart skip a beat and the slumbering butterflies in her stomach awaken once more.

"He seemed to sad to leave life behind, but he accepted it. He seemed to be at ease. Unlike the others, he met me contentedly. He even shook my hand." Death chuckled.

Hunith smiled, of course Balinor would just smile and shake Death's hand.

"When one meets a man so charismatic, you just have to invite him over. He talked about everything," Death said.

That man could talk day and night without taking a single breath. Hunith grinned.

"Especially about you and his newly discovered son." Hunith stopped grinning. Merlin knew about Balinor? He met Balinor? And he never told her?

Death nodded understandingly. "Merlin did not tell you because Balinor died before his eyes and he could not shed a single tear, for Arthur was with him."

Hunith's heart ached at the thought.

"I have invited you here simply because I was wondering if Balinor was telling the truth about you. And he was correct. You are stubborn, but kind hearted and loving. I have also brought you here to defend Merlin. I felt you should know what he has done before your end, so I sent some messengers. However, there is no need to feel any ire toward the boy for keeping secrets. Everyone keeps secrets. Including you." Death raised a pair of gray, elderly eyebrows. Hunith felt blood rushing to her cheeks, as she thought of her secret, Balinor.

"I am giving you a choice. You may die now, at home, peacefully. Or you may continue your journey, and die of a disease that some call the 'curse of Death', for it is slow and can be quite painful. There is no cure."

Hunith immediately said, "I'll go to Camelot."

Death nodded. "As I thought. Now, you must not tell anyone of this meeting nor of the one you had with my messengers, or I may have to meet some you know much too soon," Death said ominously. "I'll see you soon. Good luck, Hunith." An ebony door appeared next to the fire place.

Death signaled Hunith to leave. "You shall end up where we left, on the brink of Camelot."

Hunith rose, slowly, out of the plush chair and quietly walked out, alive, of the home of Death.

* * *

"Hey, how are you?" Hunith was pulled our of her reminiscence. Her warm, tired eyes looked at Merlin.

"Fine," she replied. Actually, Hunith felt like she was slipping. Though the pain was fading, her thoughts more muddled, her eyes more heavy.

Merlin looked at her skeptically. "No you're not."

Hunith decided to spill a few beans. "You're right. I'm not." Tears glittered like crystal in Merlin's eyes. "Come here." Like the little boy he felt like, Merlin rushed over to his mother's bedside. She stroked his hair while saying, "Sh...It'll be okay..."

Merlin sniffled. "No it won't. You're going to die." The dam broke. Merlin began sobbing.

"Sh...Merlin...Merlin, Merlin!" Merlin's head shot up, his blue eyes rimmed with red and tears. "Crying isn't going to do anything. Neither is working yourself to near death to try to find a cure." Like a five-year-old, Merlin wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Before I say anything else, promise me you won't start sobbing again. Time is limited." Merlin nodded.

"I am dying, Merlin." Merlin struggled not to cry. "Just remember two things. First of all, you are a special child, destined for great things. Protect yourself, protect Arthur, protect Camelot." Merlin nodded firmly.

"And remember that even in death, I will love you and be there for you." Tears ran silently down Merlin's face.

"Now, go get me some flowers." Merlin looked reluctant to do so at first, then decided to follow orders for once.

As soon as the door shut, an echoing voice said, "Hello Hunith."

The pain and fuzziness left Hunith. For the first time in days, she got out of bed. "Hello Death," Hunith replied.

A figure stepped out from behind a now taller Death. "Hello Hunith," a familiar voice greeted.

"Balinor," Hunith whispered. Balinor held out a hand, which Hunith took gladly. They embraced and Hunith stared into his blue-grey eyes, those stormy eyes, those eyes that she loved, those eyes...those eyes...

_Hunith's eyes fluttered to a close, her breath gradually slowed, but a small smile grew on her face._

_Hunith was at peace._


End file.
